too tired to fight, to hurt to compromise
by LoveLikeYou'reNotBroken
Summary: What was it that Ray said to him? Never shoot back, always shoot first? She'd been perfecting that since age fifteen. She's grateful they have to work together after this, or else she'd do something she'd regret. She can't decide if she'd spend all night showing him that she does care, or shoot him on the spot. Both options sound wildly appealing.


An empty, abandoned carton (gallon) of ice cream and multiple empty beer bottles are cluttered on her coffee table. She tells herself this is the normal routine after a stressful case and it has nothing to do with the unresolved tension (and for the first time it's not purely sexual) currently boiling between her and her partner.

She doesn't need to be reminded that he was right and she was wrong. That he was just doing his job. That she's done the same thing a hundred times and snaps at him the second he shows any sort of reaction to her seducing a criminal for info.

She doesn't need to be reminded that listening to him with Monica hurt her more than anything she'd ever experienced.

That's why she left the empty shot glass still sticky with vodka on the kitchen counter.

No sense in reminding her that she caved under the wave of misery (and abandonment) that had been threatening to drown her since she first found out about the case.

The sounds of Top Model are muted in the background and it's when she doesn't even try to deny the fact that watching it doesn't feel right without him that she realizes she's in trouble.

All the running and working out in the world can't help her now. Eating her feelings is out of the question as she recently discovered much to her disappointment. And she's not about to walk into work tomorrow with a hangover and let everyone in the agency see straight through her 'I-don't-care-if-my-partner-was-with-her' attitude she's trying so hard (and _failing_ _so, so hard_) to keep.

She's in over her head, that much she knows for sure.

Anyone who's known her for more than a few minutes can see that she not only needs control but _craves_ it, so not being able to do anything but sit around and feel helpless isn't really working out for her.

Her head hits the back of the couch and her eyes drift closed, overthinking every aspect of her life finally taking its toll on her and the exhaustion sets in.

She's half asleep and on her way to restless tossing and turning that she knows is in store for her tonight when the rapid pounding on her door jerks her awake.

The obnoxious noise doesn't stop, persistence laced in each hit. She sends a silent prayer to whoevers listening that the person behind the door isn't who she thinks it is, but who is she kidding? Who else would it be at almost two in the morning?

She pulls herself off the couch and reluctantly heads towards the fight she knows is about to happen. And if the tension during their false reassurances (_so_ far from being good) is any indication of how this is going to play out, then she better make sure her gun is locked away because she can't make any promises at this point.

What can she say? Betrayal makes her violent.

The door is open for a total of two seconds and she barely has enough time to snap a 'what the fuck do you want, Deeks?' when he's barging his way in, nearly knocking her over in the process.

He starts pacing, a hand gripping his more than usual shaggy hair. She leans against the now closed door and crosses her arms protectively over her chest. She watches him walk up and down her living room four more times before she snaps.

"Deeks, it's two in the morning. If you're not going to say anything, and just continue to pace through my house like an idiot, feel free. I'm going to bed." She pushes off the door and walks towards her bedroom, refusing to make eye contact. He grabs her arm before she reaches the door, and if she wasn't so _furious_ right now she'd be shocked at her roughly he grabbed her.

"You're not gonna be able to sleep any more I am, Kensi." His voice is cold, frustration laced in every word. His eyes seer into hers, giving her a look that says he can see right through every word she says and she's not fooling anyone.

The only other time he's ever looked at her like that was in the middle of a gym when Jason Wyler saw right through Tracey. And just like then, she swallows down the slightest hint of fear that sparks within her.

She shouldn't be happy, thrilled, (turned on) by him getting so angry, but she can't help it. Maybe it's the fact that he's not pretending he's unaffected by everything she does, or that he's showing that he fucking cares.

Or maybe it's the fact that the look in his eyes are screaming that he wants her to be _his,_ and despite the fact that it's after midnight and she's supposed to hate him, she can't get the image of him pinning her against the wall and making it official.

The fact that she's _not_ scared should terrify her, but it doesn't. It only gives her more of a reason to let him do whatever the hell he wants with (_to_) her.

Her lack of response makes the emotion in his eyes tighten up with irritation and the rage ignites in her once again.

"What do you want from me, Deeks?" she forces out through clenched teeth. Her nails are creating permanent dents in her palms and pure adrenaline is coursing through her veins, reminding her why she so often stays mad at him.

The fact that this man has enough power over her to get her adrenaline pumping out of anger only proves how far gone she is. Up until recently, they've remained somewhat professional. Sure, an innuendo slips out here and there but nothing that would raise a question.

But on the rare occasions where there both equally pissed, professionalism goes straight to hell with all their common sense. Neither of them can think straight when they're angry, leading their thoughts to race, constant urges to scream, curse, and retaliate.

And though neither would admit it, the strongest urge being to crash their lips together and channel their anger into something more useful.

The adrenaline picks up speed as his hand tightens on her arm and she has to bite back the moan stuck in her throat as heat floods straight to her already pounding core.

"Cut the shit, Kensi," he face is inches from hers, his eyes hard and _god_, how she wishes the slight hatred in them would go unnoticed. She's seen him angry, furious, a million times before, but never directed at her and the thought alone adds to her growing rage.

Because despite things being her fault, Kensi is still Kensi. And Kensi cannot just stand there and let Marty Deeks (of all people) take his anger out on her without fighting back.

What was it that Ray said to him? Never shoot back, always shoot first?

She'd been perfecting that since age fifteen.

But just like every other situation she's experienced since he effortlessly worked his way into her life, Deeks shatters every defense mechanism she has. His mouth opens again, and for the first time in three years, she wishes she never opened that damn door. "You know just as well as I do that you're not good. But you're too much of a coward to actually address anything that needs to be talked about." He lets go of her, more like shoves her away from him, and her back collides with the wall.

Not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough for her to realize she was so stunned by his words she didn't even make an effort to catch herself.

Her stomach twists into a huge knot when she realizes that she never makes the effort anymore, and her eyes sting when the dependency on him to always catch her shatters to pieces in front of her eyes.

Because who's going to catch her, when he's the one causing her to fall apart?

He stares at her with unreadable eyes and she hates herself for breathing so heavy. "What are we doing, Kensi?" he sighs, quieter, but the words echo through her. She's been wondering the same thing for months (years).

She opens her mouth but words fail her, she shrugs helplessly as she slides to the floor, her back against the wall and wonders when this (_them_) spiraled so far out of control.

He pretends not to notice the tears forming in her eyes and the fact that she's avoiding any eye contact. Because they can't go through this again. And if he goes over there and gathers her into his arms and lets her cry and fall asleep on his chest like she's done so many times, they'll let another night pass by without talking.

And heaven knows this conversation is long overdue.

But the sight of his partner so utterly destroyed, breaks his heart. In love with her or not, he can't stand being the cause of those tears in her mismatched eyes.

So he walks over and slides down the wall next to her, him staring straight ahead, her staring at the floor. There is a solid foot between their shoulders, and for two people who lack personal space, it seemed like miles.

They sit in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts, telepathically willing the other to speak first.

Her fear of rejection and change keeping the words she's been wanting to say for ages locked behind closed lips.

His frustration and exhaustion with always having to be the first one to speak and practically force her into talking to him keeps him quiet, challenging her to open up.

Time seems to stand still, and if he weren't focusing so hard on every breath and sigh she made he might have missed the almost inaudible words that fall from her lips.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, it's the last thing he wants to hear from her, but it's a start. "I trust you, Deeks, you _know_ I do. I just don't react well to not being in the loop." She takes a deep breath, her head is in her hands, a few tears silently dripping down her pale face. He waits, he'll always wait. "You know operations like that make me nervous, especially when you're so close to someone. I mean, _god _Deeks! She could have shot you and no one would have been close enough to even notice."

She leaned back, wiping the tears with the back of her hand and leaning her head against the wall, eyes drifting close.

Frustration fills him again and he has to bite his tongue to hold back the scream that he's sixty percent positive won't help the situation.

"Dammit, Kensi, this is what I'm talking about! Just for _once_, tell me something you're really thinking. You and I both know you're not really upset about it being a secret. You wonder why we never get anywhere! Denying what's in front of you can only work for so long, sweetheart." His words set her off again, her eyes snapping open and her head turning to glare at him.

"What do you want me to say, Deeks? That I was jealous? That I wanted to kick her ass for touching you? You apparently know everything I'm thinking, so why bother?" her eyes are on fire and goddammit she's never looked more beautiful.

"You can't even admit it, Kensi! You're seriously going to sit there and deny that I ever meant anything to you? I'm not as dumb as you think, but I sure as hell am an idiot for wasting my time on you. Lord knows you'll never own up to anything." He stood up and walked to the door without looking back.

She pushed off the wall, and followed after him without giving it a second thought. "Who the fuck do you think you are? You're gonna stand there and accuse me of not owning up to anything? Are you fucking kidding me?" he reached the door and right as he reaches to open it she grabs his arm, yanking him until he's facing her.

The surprise on his face of her random strength shouldn't satisfy her like it does.

"You do the same thing, Deeks." She spits out, his eyes narrow and she's grateful they have to face each other at work after this or she'd do something she'd regret. She can't decide if she'd spend all night showing him that she does care, or shoot him on the spot.

Both options sound wildly appealing.

"This was a mistake, Kensi." He whispers, the defeat in his words breaking her heart and she almost gasps in shock. Whether he's talking about their fight or their partnership/friendship/relationship, she doesn't know, but goddamnit if they don't hurt. "I should go."

Without another word, or even a reassuring Deeks grin, he walks out the door, her hand falling limply to her side. He walks to his car and doesn't turn back and she hates herself for wanting him to run back to her, sweep her into his arms, lock the door, and never deal with the outside world again.

She takes a deep breath and closes the door, turns off the TV and attempts to clean the mess he's always teased her about.

She's dying, but like she knows too well, life goes on even when you can't.

She'll never admit to anyone that she cried herself to sleep that night.

The next time she sees him is when she walks into the bullpen and he's having a considerably strange debate with Callen over God knows what.

She'll never admit to anyone how the pain in her chest intensified when his eyes didn't light up and he didn't give her a wide smile when he saw her.

They worked together flawlessly; no amount of fighting could ever destroy how well they work together. But it's weird and forced and awkward. It's quiet and tense and she can't help but feel like the best thing that ever happened to her, not only left, but is being dangled in front of her.

For the first time in three years, they don't have anything to say. Too tired to fight, too weak to talk, too hurt to compromise.

For the first time since they've been assigned partners, they can't bear the idea of going to work.

For two repaired souls, they sure know how to destroy themselves.

**A/N: I've been working on this for a while, but I definitely wanted to post it before season 5 started. **

**Please let me know what you think, I really try to learn from my reviews and feedback. **

**Let me know if there is anything (prompt/idea) you'd like me to work on!**


End file.
